Story of an ExLover
by 101Obsessions
Summary: An ex-servant, an ex-best friend, and an ex-lover of the Princess, Elliot is on the run after that fateful day in the Throne Room. The story of how he came to Bowerstone Orphanage. Pairings: Elliot/Linda and Elliot/Princess
1. Chapter 1

_**Another Fable story! I've finally got time to write one, and for once no writer's block :D**_

_**Spoilers for the very beginning of the main quest, and hints at bits of side-quests.**_

_**This is basically the first 'year' that takes place in-game, all from Elliot's POV. Starting with the day Princess Rosalyn has to make the choice between killing her lover or three revolutionists, it tells the tale of how Elliot came to work in the Bowerstone Shelter and his engagement to Linda.**_

_**Because Elliot is weirdly adorable and I liked coming up with bits of backstory for him.**_

_**On that note, I know that Elliot is listed as 'Middle Class', but I've put him here to work in the kitchens, simply because that's where you always find him if you marry him and live in Bowerstone Castle. I think I'll put little hints of how Elliot came to work at the Palace in later chapters ^^**_

_**Set in the evening, a few hours after the Princess, Jasper and Walter make their getaway through the Catacombs. Elliot is doing a runner from his rented room in the Market, because he's scared of being so close to the Palace. Italics are flashbacks to earlier on in the day, or thoughts. It should be fairly clear.**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own anything Fable-related, except for Rosalyn and Dog and dammit I've forgotten to write Dog in AGAIN.**_

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><p>It was late evening. It was hushed, and quiet, but not in the way Elliot liked it to be. It wasn't a calm or peaceful sort of silence – it was tense, afraid, uncertain. Or was that just him?<p>

His hands shook as he hurriedly piled his few meagre possessions into his sack, pulling the drawstring tight. His breathing was fast and shallow, and his stomach kept turning over and over, making him feel sick. The events of the day kept replaying themselves in his mind.

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><p><em>It was such a glorious morning, so bright and beautiful, with birds singing in the palace gardens and the early morning sunlight reflecting off of the pools in the grounds, he could almost kid himself that the rumours were nothing, just spite on a few poor peoples' parts. <em>

_It wasn't quite enough to stop him from needing to talk to Rose about it, however. He waited in the garden, idly staring up at the statue of Logan, as Jasper went off to awaken the sleeping Princess and inform her of his visit. He frowned up at the statue._

Is it true, my king? Did you really kill that worker? You always seemed to be such a good monarch to me...just like your mother.

_And then Dog had come bounding up to him, followed by the laughing young figure of the Princess he loved. Just seeing her had made everything seem just a little bit better, somehow._

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><p>Elliot glanced quickly around his room to see if he'd missed anything. It was small, very small for someone of his calibre, but it suited him. Noble blood might run through his veins, but he'd never seen himself to be particularly noble. He worked in the Palace kitchens, for Avo's sake!<p>

A sound from the next room. Elliot paused, terrified he'd woken his landlady. But there came a creak of the bedsprings as she doubtless rolled over, followed by a loud, piggy snore. He sighed in relief, turning back to his packing.

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><p>"<em>You're his sister! Maybe he'll listen to you. We have to do something."<em>

_Panic was threatening to overwhelm him, but he forced the feeling down. Seeing the demonstration had terrified him, but he'd forced himself to remain calm. _

They're overreacting. It's just rumours – they're just jumpy, like the staff are. Logan might be cold, and harsh when he does deem to speak, but to kill a worker just for standing up for a child? And what would a child be doing in a factory, anyway?

_He'd run to tell Walter and Rosalyn, and the three of them had watched as the crowd had made its way towards the Palace, shouting abuse and waving crudely-made signs showing a bloody cross over Logan's face. Walter had sworn a few times, before leaving quickly to talk with the King. If anything, that worried Elliot all the more. The two teenagers had remained by the windows, and as the people drew close enough for Elliot to make out the whites of their eyes, the panic took him._

"_We can't just stand here. We need to do something."_

_He glanced back._

"_Look, the guards have moved away from the stairs. We should follow Walter, find out what Logan's going to do."_

_Rose had nodded, following him quickly and silently up the stairs. They had crouched at the door, witnessed Logan ordering his men to shoot into the crowd. Walter had protested, and both teenagers watched as one of Logan's men smashed the butt of his rifle into Walter's knee, causing the old knight to collapse to the floor. _

_They had both gasped in the same moment, and they straightened up, staring at each other in horror. Then Rosalyn's face had set, and in one sharp movement, she had shoved the door open to confront her brother._

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><p>A gourd of water dropped from Elliot's shaking hands, bouncing on the mattress. He hardly noticed. His hands closed into fists, and he shook his head, desperately trying to rid himself of the memory.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Hands had grabbed Elliot's shoulders roughly, and he stared up at his king. He couldn't possibly be suggesting-<em>

"_I give you a choice. Who shall be punished? The strangers, or this boy?"_

_Logan gestured to him, a dismissive wave of the hand, without even sparing him a glance. The older man's eyes were on the Princess._

"_The sentence will be death."_

_Elliot's blood turned cold as the three revolutionaries in the other corner whimpered in fear. The cruel fingers on his arms tightened, giving no chance of escape. Disjointed words fell from his mouth._

"_No- This can't-"_

_Logan looked at his sister, cold grey eyes showing no emotion._

"_You are the princess. Decide."_

_Walter started forward, but Logan paid no heed. He continued, seemly oblivious to the whimpering of the revolutionaries and the pale green that his sister's face had gone. Rose shook her head, her fingers suddenly gripping Elliot's hand._

"_No! I won't do this!"_

_Logan sneered at her._

"_If you can't choose, I will. They will all be executed. So tell me; what are you willing to sacrifice to do the right thing?"_

_Elliot was finding it hard to swallow. He looked across at the 'traitors' – probably no more than five or six years older than himself. A young woman was burying her face in a man's jacket in fear, his arms wound around her tightly. They were just ordinary people. Just standing up for what they thought was right, just like the worker who had been killed before._

_Rose glanced at him, and to his horror he saw her eyes filled with tears. Rose never cried. But then again, she'd never had to make a choice like this before._

_Elliot knew he couldn't let her._

"_This is madness. We can't-we just can't-"_

_He took a deep breath, his heart beating frantically in his chest, echoing in his head._

"_Choose me. You can't let them all die."_

_Rosalyn shook her head, but Elliot reached up, his hand steady despite his terror. He touched her face, making her look him in the eye._

"_Choose me."_

_Rose blinked, a single tear running down her cheek. She looked at him for a long time, then across at the revolutionaries, then back to him. Elliot found himself murmuring the words again. She couldn't make this choice –she was too young, too innocent, and above all he didn't want her to have to-_

_Logan clicked his tongue impatiently, and a hand twitched, as if to raise it, command the soldiers to take them all away, when Rose spoke._

"_Wait."_

_The Princess was staring at the carpet, her hands clasped into fists. Dark droplets of tears made tiny circles on the navy blue. She took a shaky breath, then murmured something._

"_The revolutionists. Kill the revolutionists."_

_A yelp of horror from one of the mob leaders. Elliot's jaw dropped, and he shook his head frantically._

"_No, no, Rose! Me, you have to-"_

_Logan paid no heed. Out of the corner of his eye, Elliot saw Logan raise a hand, and the soldiers surrounded the mob leaders just as the cold hands on his arms released him. He took a step forward, reaching out to the Princess who wasn't facing him._

"_No! It should be me. Don't do this. It should be me!"_

_Rosalyn was shaking as the soldiers roughly escorted the crying mob leaders away. As the pounding footsteps and weak cries faded to nothing, she spun around suddenly, facing her brother, all the fire of anger in her eyes. Her voice broke on the words._

"_I will never forgive you for this!"_

_Logan merely stared back._

"_Good. Then you will never forget it."_

_His gaze went to the remainder of his men._

"_Escort my sister to her chambers. Now."_

_Rosalyn spun around on her heel, marching smartly out, flanked by the purple-clad elite soldiers. Elliot almost reached out to her, but she didn't even glance at him. When he saw her face, wet with tears, he realised it was because she couldn't look him in the eye._

How? How did this day become so-

_He didn't have time to answer that. With a fearful glance at the King, who had turned away to face Walter's angry retorts, he scurried out of the room like a frightened mouse. _

_It was a few hours later when a serving maid found him hiding in the gardens, shaking by the pool. She'd told him that the Princess, Walter and butler Jasper had all gone missing. In that moment, his heart, torn by the day's events, broke._

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><p>A thud. The gourd of water had rolled off of the bed, popping open and spilling its contents all over the wooden boards. Elliot blinked out of his reverie, automatically reaching down and going to the basin to refill it. He realised his face was wet, wet like the dusty wood that thirstily sucked up the small puddle of water.<p>

With a sniff, Elliot quickly wiped his eyes, hurrying back to his pack. This was why he had to leave. The Palace wasn't safe for him anymore – maybe he'd been kidding himself that it had ever been safe. He was never going to see Rosalyn again. And so, he'd have to move somewhere, somewhere safe, and live out the remainder of his days.

Maybe he could get work in Bowerstone Industrial. Even with his semi-sheltered life in the Market and the Palace, he'd seen the recruitment posters. Always room for more workers. All he had to do now, was keep his head down and his mouth shut.

And try to forget about the woman who had saved his life today.

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><p><em><strong>Gah, angst. I always give Elliot angst. But then again, he's got a lot to be angsty about. I guess I can forgive him for being so rediculously happy once he marries Rose.<strong>_

_**I'm not sure if I got it across, but Elliot is a little naive about the world, not knowing about child labour, for instance, but knows enough about where he needs to go. **_

_**R & R, if it so pleases you. ^^**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2! Not much about Rose here - just a quick description of how Elliot feels, late at night and on the run._**

**_I wrote Bowerstone Market from memory, so the exits might be a little wrong here. (Oh, and bonus points for readers if you spot the little shoutouts to Fable: The Balverine Order and Going Solo by Roald Dahl)_**

**_Disclaimer: Own nothing._**

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><p>Elliot shivered as he walked smartly down the streets, although his shivering was less to do with the cold – it being a warm autumn night – and more to do with fear. He was jumping at shadows every few seconds, his heart racing in his chest.<p>

He kept to small alleys between and behind the houses. In the dark of the night, the main streets were empty, but it felt too exposed – and every now and then a soldier would wander out from the Cock and Crown, drunk as a skunk, true, but more often than not followed by a far more sober Captain in the midst of scolding the man for drinking on duty.

So instead, Elliot skulked past the stores, past the pub and past the clocktower by keeping behind the houses, climbing over fences and making shortcuts through back gardens. One time, he clambered right over the roof of the building that used to be his uncle's textile shop, before his aunt had died and his cousin run away with the family servant. He didn't spare too much time for that memory. He hadn't known them all that well, anyway. His heart quivered every time he cut across a property, scared the house owner would wake up, look out of the window, open the door, perhaps.

He almost laughed at himself. Just a few hours ago, he'd been one word away from the firing squad, and here he was, irrationally afraid of a few villagers annoyed at his trespassing, of his landlady chasing him down for not paying the few gold coins he owed her.

Actually, that last one was a pretty rational fear. Ms Mullins was terrifying at the best of times.

He really did snigger at that, but hurriedly quietened down. His laughter didn't sound right, more like terrified squeaking, and it seemed to echo in this small space.

He paused a moment as he dropped down from a fence, to catch his breath and determine his whereabouts. He must be somewhere east of the Bower Bridge that led to Millfields – he could smell ale and ink on the air, which meant he was also close to the Tattooists, and therefore Bowerstone Industrial.

He nodded smartly, reaching down to pick up his sack again. He jumped as a little black shape dived over his head, and sighed in relief when he saw it was just a mouse.

The mouse looked up at him a moment, almost as though it were tilting its head curiously. Elliot somehow managed a half-smile.

"Better get out of here, Mouse, or you might be a cat's dinner before you're very much older."

The mouse scampered away, and Elliot was into the next street before he realized that the Mouse might very well have answered;

"The same to you, my boy. You're no better off than I am."

He shivered again, his feet picking up pace. The sooner he was somewhere safe and far from the Castle, the better.

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><p><em><strong>Couple of little tweaks on facts from The Balverine Order, but this is my fanfic, so who cares? XD<strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Yay, third chapter ^^_**

**_Elliot gets a taste of life in Industrial. And as a posh little rich boy (occupation aside), he doesn't like it._**

**_Disclaimer: Don't own Bowerstone, or Elliot, but I did make up the two other characters in this chapter. (If you're confused about how I describe 'the child' in this chapter, read the authors notes at the very end of it :) )_**

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><p>In retrospect, he should have been expecting it. He'd seen Bowerstone Industrial from the Castle, seen the vast chimneys belching smoke, the greyish smog that hung over the entire district. But he didn't expect for breathing to gradually get more difficult as he entered the streets of the Industrial Quarter, didn't expect to have to squint through the dense industrial fog, or for his boots to slip in the slimy, broken cobblestones of the street floor.<p>

Elliot paused by a crumbling brick wall, rubbing his throat with one hand as he tried to breathe. The smell of smoke, dust, sweat and raw sewage attacked his throat savagely, and he fought not to choke on it. Or worse, throw up.

_Not that it would make much of a difference to the pavement, _he mused, eyes wandering over the filthy road. Even in the darkness, he could still clearly see the muck and dirt that covered the stones. This place was worse than he could've ever imagined.

_And Logan let this happen?_

Finally feeling able to take breaths in without choking, Elliot straightened up and continued walking. Unlike the Market, there were still people roaming the streets at this time of night – he could see figures wandering in the fog, vague silhouettes like ghosts. He shivered.

_Now don't be ridiculous. There aren't any ghosts here, or Hollow Men, or any of those strange unearthly creatures because none of them exist anymore._

He managed a half-smile. No, all he had to worry about were humans, and although they were bad enough, at least he didn't have to deal with the stuff of horror stories told at the fireside on dark nights. That was all. He almost smiled for real.

When the hand reached out and grabbed his leg, Elliot very nearly screamed. As it was, he let out a squeal of fright and jumped away, dropping his pack in the process, eyes darting around for his attacker.

It was a child. A tiny bundle of rags and blankets was sat on the side of the street, heaped over a small body that sat shivering. The night wasn't cold, but the child huddled deeper into its clothing, until all Elliot could see was a little tuft of hair poking out of the top of the bundle, and two murky brown eyes staring up at him.

The child's hand was still outstretched towards Elliot, who picked up his pack and approached the child cautiously.

"Um...hello. What are you doing out here?"

The child stared up at him a few moments, then shrugged. The outstretched hand was raised slightly, and the child spoke, in a hoarse, raspy voice.

"Please, sir, d'you have any food?"

Immediately, Elliot opened his pack.

"The remainder of a loaf of bread. You're welcome to it."

He handed over the small morsel – only about two mouthfuls left – and the child leapt on it, ripping the bread apart with its teeth, chewing frantically, swallowing quickly. Elliot blinked.

"Whoa, slow down! You'll make yourself choke!"

The child paid no heed, and within seconds the bread was entirely gone, the child now busy scooping up the crumbs that had fallen onto its blankets and shovelling them into its starving mouth. Elliot watched this display with a sort of horrified fascination.

"When was the last time you ate?"

The child shrugged, wiping its mouth. It spoke, sounding more human this time around.

"Yesterday. Maybe t' day before. I don't remember."

Elliot stepped a little closer to the child, examining what he could see of its face. Big black circles ringed the child's eyes, and its skin seemed grey under the layer of dirt and soot. Elliot spoke again, his voice very tender.

"Why are you sitting out here? Haven't you got anywhere to go?"

The child shrugged again.

"The factory doesn't open 'til an hour before dawn. There's the shelter, but that's more like an Orphanage, and I still got me ma alive. But she's always lyin' in a puddle of beer somewhere, so she's no good either."

Elliot sighed softly, leaning down to the child's level. He couldn't quite bring himself to actually _sit _on the filthy floor, so he opted for a sort of awkward crouch, balancing on the balls of his feet.

"No one should be on the streets this late at night, much less a child."

The big brown eyes looked back at him.

"So why are you? In trouble with the coppers?"

Elliot chuckled softly under his breath.

"You could say that, kid, you could definitely say that."

The child tilted its head, eyes widening in awe.

"Are you a burglar, then? No, too clumsy – a murderer! Who'd you kill?"

Elliot blinked, alarmed, then shook his head.

"No, no, no! I'm not a killer, I...er..."

He could hardly say he was the Princess's lover, who had been arrested by soldiers as the King demanded his sister decide who should be executed as an example, could he? He winced.

"Er, you could say that I got a little too curious, and it ended badly." _Really badly. _"Curiosity killed the cat, you know?"

The child blinked.

"What do cats have to do with it?"

Before Elliot could think of an answer to that one, the child tilted its head.

"You know, you're pretty cool, mister, even if you aren't a murderer. I don't s'pose you could spare a coin or two, could ya?"

Elliot smiled, his first real smile since that morning.

"Of course."

He was just reaching for his money bag when a voice rang out from behind him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, sonny boy."

The young man glanced around, and jumped out of his skin when he saw a soldier standing just behind him, the musket resting casually in the man's arms. Slowly, he stood up, keeping half an eye on the gun.

"Might I ask why not?"

The soldier gave him a long look, then sighed.

"That explains it. I don't know what you're doing here, rich boy, but you'd better keep the coins you've got to yourself if you're planning on staying – not that you'd be sane if you did – because you're going to need them. And if you give money to one beggar, that's it – they'll tell their beggar friends and the next thing you know you're surrounded by them, all scrounging for handouts. And once you give to one, you feel obliged to give to others – and then you end up with nothing."

The soldier finished his speech, leaving Elliot blinking at him. The younger man's mouth was hanging half-open, before he suddenly spoke up.

"But – what if they're a child? Just a child! What am I supposed to do, leave them there shivering?"

The soldier's eyes narrowed slightly, but then his expression relaxed, and he sighed.

"You've got a choice, boy. Either give all your money away to children who likely won't live to spend it, or keep it to yourself and feel guilty."

Elliot flinched, glancing alongside at the child in the blankets. It merely looked back up at him, a sort of resigned expression on its face. Suddenly frowning, Elliot dug in a pocket and flicked the child a gold coin.

"There. Not much, but something, at least."

The child's face lit up as gloved hands reached up to catch it. The child examined the coin with fascination a while – Elliot realised with a jolt how clean and sparkling the grubby coin looked in that child's hands – before stowing it somewhere in the bundle. It grinned up at Elliot.

"Thanks, mister."

Elliot smiled again, just as a hand on his shoulder told him to start moving. He walked forward obediently, the soldier guiding him away from this dark street. He heard the child yell after him.

"Bye, mister!"

The soldier stopped him in one of the main streets, by a large, run-down old building. The man turned to Elliot, who noticed for the first time that the soldier's red coat was grubby, with beer stains down it, and his grey trousers were more black from being caked with mud.

"Look, boy, you've got a good heart. But here, here you can't survive with that. You better keep your money to yourself from now on, your head down and your mouth shut."

Elliot glared at him from underneath his fringe.

"That's the law, is it?"

A gruff chuckle.

"No, kid, that's advice. Now move along. If you really are in trouble with the law, then I don't want to be seen with you, get it?"

Elliot blinked, then nodded. He licked his lips nervously.

"Er, you wouldn't know of any lodgings, would you...?"

The soldier had turned away, but Elliot heard his gruff mutter.

"A friend of mine stays at Guiltford. They have a spare room there, so I've heard."

"Oh, thank-"

But the soldier was already gone, leaving Elliot's half-finished gratitude in the fog. The young man blinked a few times, then shrugged, adjusting the straps on his pack before looking around him.

Now, which way was Guiltford?

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><p><em><strong>Elliot might be a wimp, but he's a nice wimp.<strong>_

_**'Copper' is British slang for police, which although do not technically exist in Albion, I'm using the term to describe the soldiers, as they uphold the King's law.**_

_**This was actually fun to write, which, when I look back over it, is kind of depressing that I find poverty easy to imagine. But the characters hopefully make up for it - you've got a child on the streets with a slightly morbid fascination with murderers and a gruff ol' soldier who gives good advice before pissing off to the pub.**_

_**The child doesn't have a gender written here because Elliot genuinely can't tell if it's a girl or a boy. Which is actually really sad.**_


	4. Chapter 4

It had taken a little blind stumbling around and the greasing of one half-drunk guard's palm to find Guiltford. Elliot was careful, once he found the place, to hide his accent, speaking in a gruff voice. The landlord didn't give him a second look – in fact, he didn't lift his eyes from the coins Elliot passed over, even when directing the young man to his new room.

Elliot now sat on his bed – which he'd already checked carefully for bedbugs and mice – looking around his new abode with a sinking heart. The plaster was peeling from the walls, revealing the rotting wood that was the frame of the building; the uneven floor even had holes in some places, so he had to step carefully to cross it; the window didn't fit the gap that had been cut, causing a draught that made him shiver; and the view from the window was even worse, of a broken down building opposite, that only served to make him feel even more depressed.

"Home sweet home," he muttered to the air, then buried his face in his hands as he tried not to cry.

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><p>Still, despite everything, Elliot forced himself to be optimistic. As least he hadn't had to sleep on the streets last night. And this landlord wasn't nearly as scary as Ms Mullins had been – and even better, he actually got breakfast with his lodgings! Okay, so it was burnt porridge, but better than nothing.<p>

A final thing to be optimistic about, he told himself firmly as he stepped out of the front door, on a quest to look for work, was that the walking distance to his workplace wasn't going to be very far _here, _at least.

The half-smile died on his face as the stench rolled over him. He gagged, coughing on the foul air. It was a mark on how bad it was here that none of the passers-by even blinked in acknowledgement of his choking. Elliot coughed a final time, eyes streaming. He sniffed.

_Might as well get used to it. You're going to be here a while, after all._

Determined to at least fake high spirits, Elliot straightened up and strode in the direction of a nearby wall, which was covered in recruitment posters. He stood defiantly in front of it, eyes scanning the various directions he could go.

_I've never been ambitious, but I might as well go for whatever I want._

The options, however, weren't particularly to his taste. A large, official-looking poster drew his gaze to a uniform-glad soldier, glaring out at him.

'_The Royal Army needs you'? Ha, I can't see myself as a soldier. I'm far too much of a coward, and I'm useless in a fight._

The next poster wasn't particularly cheering either.

'_Big Betty's Bordello in need of skilled members'? Goodness me, that's a terrifying thought!_

He shivered in fear – partially about what a member of a bordello would do for a living, and partially about the large, rather sickening image of Big Betty on the worn paper.

_Whoever painted that had an extraordinarily strong stomach._

His eyes went to the final posters, his last options. This time, he paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

_Reaver Industries? I've heard that name… some old lord runs it, I think. I've nobles up at the castle talk about the company. They make inventions, I think, that the nobles often buy. I think there were those wooden teeth that Lord Antony was sporting a few weeks back – gave him splinters, if I remember – and there's that 'Peasant Poker' that Lady Emilie was testing on the other servants._

He tilted his head, thinking.

_So, the inventions themselves are useless and a waste of coin, but I know the nobles are stupid enough to buy them. And judging by the man on this poster, the company must be pretty rich, and big. So they'll need workers._

A small smile came to his face, the first real smile since before yesterday. Now, he had a plan. He'd never worked in a factory before, the hours were going to be longer and harder than what he was used to, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

_And I'm *not* becoming a beggar._

Elliot spun on his heel, eyes already searching the streets and canals for anyone who looked as though they might know the way to the main factory of Reaver Industries.

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><p>Elliot had assumed that getting the job would be the hardest part of his new life. He was wrong – the job was handed to him practically straight away. It was getting used to his new life that Elliot found most difficult.<p>

His room at Guiltford was the utter reverse of soundproof. He could hear the very breathing of people down on the ground floor if he lay in his bed at night, as well as every creaky floorboard of people moving around, getting to sleep. It also didn't help that the couple who were renting the room next door had a rather 'active' nightlife, which served the double purpose of keeping Elliot up at night and making him feel extremely uncomfortable and awkward. It also dredged up unwanted memories of sharing a room with the Princess, which felt so very, very long ago now…

The walk to work also needed getting used to. Elliot felt like a little old man every time he ventured outside and breathed in that fetid air. Once or twice, he'd had to dive behind a building to throw up his breakfast, and he'd stumble back onto the main street shaking and pale, wiping his mouth roughly with the back of his hand.

Work itself, too, was hard. Elliot's pay was minimal, but enough to pay for his lodging and food, so he daren't complain. His conditions, however, were awful. He was squashed between two teenagers a few years younger than himself – surely that had to be illegal, but Elliot grimly registered that Bowerstone Industrial didn't seem to care too much about illegality – in a dark, damp room, doing pitiful, repetitive tasks on small machines and doo-dads that he knew full well were useless and a waste of resources. No talking was allowed, no deviating from duty. Just slow, repetitive work, from an hour before dawn in the morning until just after dusk at night.

It was enough to drive you crazy, the same movements and sounds and sights over and over and over. It felt as though what limited education he'd had was seeping out of him with every second he spent inside the factory. Sometimes, when it got really bad, he'd daydream of being in the Castle gardens with Rose, having a playful theological argument, bantering ideas back and forth. She'd always win, being the king's sister, and having the best education, after all.

But then his hands would slip and he'd almost make a mistake and he'd be forced to yank his mind back to concentrate on what he was doing, those little hammer taps and twisting of nozzles. No one wanted to make a mistake in Reaver's factory.

Mistakes, and their consequences, were the very worst things of Elliot's new life. A mistake meant you had to be punished, and punishments were delivered quickly and painfully by one of the overseers. The overseers paced behind the workers all day long, eyes peeled for slacking or tiredness or mistakes. Each and every one of them carried a whip.

Elliot had never been whipped. Not once, although that was just as much to do with luck as with keeping his head down. The few times he'd made mistakes, he was lucky enough not to be spotted by the overseers. Never did he feel the whip crack.

The girl next to him did, however. Many times, he heard the whip and the yelp and he'd flinched, glancing alongside to see her wincing. He never spoke a word out against it. The anger rose in him every time, but the fear would force it to back down.

Once, the girl was whipped so hard she started to cry. Elliot's fists and teeth clenched, and he found himself mentally judging the distance between himself and the overseer behind them, how long it would take to spin around and punch him, how fast the other man's reflexes would be.

For a second, Elliot knew he was going to punch the man's lights out. Then the second passed and he carried on with his work and the overseer stepped past. Cold, clammy fear and shame fought each other in Elliot's stomach. Fear won out.

The girl sniffled, clumsy fingers carrying on her work. Elliot glanced alongside at her, wishing he were brave enough to stand up. Wishing he had the guts to do something about it, but knowing he never would. Not with Logan on the throne.

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><p><em><strong>Everytime I start to think Logan is cool, I think back to how he let the child labour happen, and I hate him. Even though he's a fictional character, and the kids are fictional characters, I really hated Logan, even if his intentions were warped-noble.<strong>_

_**Reaver, however, I don't hate, which is funny. I think I just find it impossible to hate the smarmy-Stephen-Fry-voiced-pirate XD**_


	5. Chapter 5

**_Yay, just starting to get to Elliot's actual life now - and meeting Linda!_**

**_I'd like to say a big thanks to NA, who commented on one of my other stories and suggested this idea for how Elliot and Linda met. It was pure _genius _because it links with how Elliot and the Princess met in the canon story of Fable (Elliot references the event in one of those one-sided conversations he has with you once you marry him - to sum up, some noble kid called Percy kept trying to kiss the Princess, so Elliot intervened and got himself a split lip. The Princess chased Percy off herself and then gave Elliot a handkerchief as thanks and to mop up the blood) I thought the idea was sweet in itself and this chapter was born ^^_**

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><p>It was perhaps three weeks into his new life when the first real incident occurred. Elliot was still not entirely used to the demands of this new, poorer life, but he bore the burdens with a half-smile on his face and a perhaps misguided hope that all would improve with time. Only when he was truly alone, maybe in an alleyway in the dead of night, did he let himself complain, swearing and kicking the strewn remains of buckets and crates, taking out his anger and frustration on the rotting wood.<p>

But his life, as it was, was at least still _life _as opposed to death. So he carried on with the half-smile on his face and his vain little hope.

Sometimes, some of the kinder guards would approach him and ask him to deliver a message or a package to one of their comrades on the other side of the District. Elliot wasn't sure why they would approach him for things like this – maybe he looked more trustworthy than the average rabble? – but he willingly accepted the work. A little extra coin never went amiss.

He was on one of these errands when he passed the gift stall in a darkened section of the District. He'd passed it a dozen times and often heard strange noises in the bushes– rustling, or giggling – and he would always increase his speed slightly, ignoring the blush on his face.

Tonight, however, those noises were different from usual. Oh, rustling, of course – louder than usual – and the sound of people moving, but this time it sounded like several people, struggling.

Then a yelp, and an angry hiss.

"Let go, let _go, _you bastards!"

Elliot stopped in his tracks, the letter in the pouch at his hip forgotten. He stared at the source of the noise, the other side of a dark, tangled hedge.

Another voice, lower, refined. He sounded like he was some sort of noble, or lord perhaps. The words he spoke, however, firmly told Elliot that this man had no nobility at all.

"Come on, darling, just one time. No one can see us here…"

Yet another voice, another man's, slightly gruffer.

"Yeh, darlin', it'll be fun!"

A high-pitched yelp, that of the woman. Elliot felt his fists and teeth clench and without thinking, he stepped around the hedge and raised an angry fist to shake at the scene before him. Two men were holding a woman between them, the taller holding her arms tight to her body and the other, leering, running his hands down her corset. The woman was struggling fiercely, the cloth that covered her hair coming loose and half-obscuring her face, which was twisted in fury.

Elliot's voice called out across the small, dilapidated courtyard and stopped the three of them in their tracks.

"Leave her alone!"

All three turned to stare at him. The woman's face – at least, the bits of it he could see – was a mixture of shock and relief, but the two men were leering, amused by this small mouse come to fight them.

The taller, gruffer man tossed the woman to the ground like a ragdoll, then rounded on Elliot, a cruel smile revealing some missing teeth. He flexed his arms and looked to his comrade.

"Looks like we have to teach a lil' boy some manners, eh Richard?"

The more refined one straightened, also turning to Elliot. The cruel smirk twisted his handsome face.

"Right you are, Nicolas. You, boy, here's a lesson you won't soon forget!"

As they approached, Elliot felt his legs turn to jelly. He had been so angry, he hadn't noticed the purple cloth of their clothes, the chest plates they wore. Logan's Elite.

The last thing he thought before he was on the floor and in pain were the words 'Oh _balls!'_

It didn't last as long as he'd feared, but long enough. He heard them laughing as they left, going in the direction of the Riveter's Rest. He wanted to wait until they were out of earshot before he whimpered in pain, but didn't quite manage it. The laughter increased in volume.

Rolling onto his side, he curled up in the foetal position, swearing all of Walter's worst words underneath his breath. The fact he was able to roll over at all told him that no bones were broken, but he still squeezed his eyes shut tight, fighting the tears that threatened to appear.

Movement beside him. He flinched, thinking they'd come back to kick him some more, when a gentle hand touched his shoulder. He risked opening his eyes slightly to look up at the person.

It was the woman he'd 'saved'. She must've run when she had the chance, or maybe the soldiers had forgotten about her in the game of beating a teenager up. She brushed her reddish-brown hair out of her eyes and he got a good look at her. She had tidied up her face and clothes, and the first thing that came to Elliot's mind was how pretty she was. Then he registered more pain and promptly no longer cared about her looks.

The woman winced in sympathy, then glanced up in the direction the men had gone. Her face twisted in anger.

"Bastards," she hissed, "I hope they get so drunk they break their necks falling down the stairs."

She looked back at him, and her face and voice became much softer.

"Are you alright? They gave you an awful beating."

_You don't say._

As the pain ebbed away slightly, Elliot risked sitting up. Wincing, he managed to settle in a position that was upright, at least. He glanced down at himself to see the extent of the damage; his clothes were ripped and covered in grime from landing on the hard cobblestone, and the skin underneath was colouring already with bruises.

_Ugh, fantastic. Still, not the first time I've tried to save a lady and come worst off…_

He glanced back up at the woman, who was looking at him oddly.

"You shouldn't have done that. You're lucky those two didn't seriously hurt you, or worse! Imagine, picking a fight with two guards double your size!"

Elliot chuckled, then stopped when it hurt too much.

"Yeah, I have a problem with that."

The woman smiled at him, shaking her head like he was mad. Then she tilted her head.

"Well, thanks. I appreciate what you _tried _to do, at least."

She handed him something – when he opened his fingers he saw it was a handkerchief, patched but still usable. He blinked at it.

"What's this – a lady's favour?"

He glanced up at her laugh – it was louder and lower than the woman's laughs he'd heard back at the palace, but it sounded more natural – much nicer than the simpering giggles of the nobles. He decided he rather liked this woman.

She grinned at him.

"No – well, yes, if you must – but I meant it for your split lip." She pointed out cheerfully.

Elliot lifted a hand to his mouth and it came away wet. A grim smile touched his lips.

_Of course. The déjà vu would have been incomplete without this little detail._

The woman blinked at him.

"What're you grinning at?"

Elliot hurriedly hid his smile in the handkerchief.

"Nothing."

There was a few moments silence as Elliot mopped himself up. The woman crouched beside him, helpfully pointing out spots he'd missed.

When he was done, he looked at the blood-sodden handkerchief with surprise – had he really bled that much? – and some shame. He glanced guiltily up at her, but she just shrugged.

"Keep it. I'll find others. My name's Linda, by the way," she said conversationally, holding out a hand to pull him up.

Elliot gratefully took it, and when he was standing shook her hand politely.

"Elliot."

Linda tilted her head, smiling at him.

"Hmm, that'll do, I suppose. It suits your little cute face. Now, are you sure you're alright?"

Elliot twitched his arms and legs. They hurt, but at least they were still usable. He nodded.

"Yeah. Are, um, are you alright?" He asked, his eyes going to her arms, which were displaying the beginnings of fingerprint-shaped bruises. Linda looked down at herself and shrugged.

"I'll live."

Elliot nodded, then looked awkwardly at the floor.

"I'd, um, better go, then. I have to deliver a letter – that is, if those soldiers didn't rip it up…"

He checked the pouch and thankfully found the letter intact, if a bit crumpled. He looked back up to Linda, whose smile was gentle now.

"Alright. Well, take care of yourself, Elliot. It was nice to meet you – although the circumstances could've been better. Thanks again, and maybe I'll see you around."

She leant forward, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Elliot felt his face burn red at once. She giggled, then stepped back.

"Well, I'll see you, Elliot."

He nodded a little too eagerly, then blushed harder.

"Um, yes. Goodbye."

He practically dashed away, hearing her light laughter following him. When he reached the main streets, with the oil lamps lighting everything a garish yellow, he slowed and touched the spot where she had kissed him. A small smile touched his lips.

It didn't take long to find the guard whom the letter was for. The man took it, hardly noticing the crumpled state, and looked hard at Elliot's bruised face.

"What happened to you, lad?"

Elliot shrugged.

"Walked into a lamppost." He muttered gruffly.

The guard gave him a hard look, eyebrow raised, but dropped the matter. He handed Elliot a small pouch of gold.

"Take care of yourself, lad. These streets can be dangerous at night."

Elliot nodded and left quickly, stowing the money pouch in the bag tied underneath his shirt – the only safe way to carry gold around here. The advice didn't even faze him as he walked home, a little spring in his step, possibly the closest to happy he'd been since he'd left the palace nearly a month ago now.


	6. Not an Update  Author's Note SORRY

Hi Everyone!

Really sorry, but this isn't an update. Just wanted to tell you all that I'm still alive, but I'm really stupidly busy with university stuff at the moment. Not to mention the fact I'm entertaining several guests this week, I also have three essays due in the end of this month. And these essays take a very long time to get right. It's a bit of a nightmare. (And my degree looks _easy _compared to some of them out there…)

So, I'm very sorry but I probably won't be updating this, or any of my other longer stories, for a while. I might be able to stick up some drabbles or maybe a oneshot or two if I've got a spare hour somewhere in between studying. Again, really sorry about that but my real life must come before my internet life.

Also would like to thank everybody who's read my stories, and especially all those who've written me such lovely reviews. It's a great pick-me-up at the end of a long day of reading through, admittedly fascinating but often irrelevant archaeology notes.

101Obsessions


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